


Into the Grey

by Airmid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airmid/pseuds/Airmid
Summary: There’s something wrong about this whole thing. Of course, it doesn’t help that Dean can’t remember how they got to this hinky town in the first place.





	Into the Grey

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Dean/Cas Tropefest Mid-Winter 5k.

* * *

 

 

“There’s something off about that,” Dean said, as they watched the little yellow frog splattered with psychedelic purple splotches. “Can’t put my finger on it –“

He was cut off by a hard pull on his arm. Cas was getting clingy, twisting his fingers into his shirt sleeve, curling the fabric like a vice. Eyes bright with fear were staring at him as the rainy mist intensified.

“Not going to actually put my finger on it, Cas.”

His friend was focusing hard on the tiny frog that had stopped to lounge in a sidewalk puddle. Dean was sure it had gotten ten times slimier in the past few seconds alone. Something niggled in his memory about bright things being a warning about poison and impending death. The monster of a dragonfly he had met a few days ago had seemed too squishy and stretchy and way too neon green inside when he had stepped on it out of panic.

None of which was helped by Cas’ big eyes that accused him of being the worst person ever. Maybe he was. Something inside of him seemed to agree.

Careful steps, didn’t need the drama repeat, and he was towing Cas along again. He knew his friend was glancing back. That frog, it didn’t belong here. He was sure of it. At the same time, given the weird crap he had seen over the past few days by this wetlands area, the frog seemed the least worrisome. It was like someone came along, transplanted all the freaky rejects nature had come up with, then bounced while the horror unfolded.

That the things here just came about naturally wasn’t acceptable, especially when they involved hundred-pound beavers with teeth longer than his fingers.

At least they were almost past this no man’s land between the hotel and the two blocks of downtown. He was bothered that the locals didn’t have the decency to be bothered by nightmare land. Even if there only seemed to be a dozen or so who staked a claim here.

“You doing okay, Cas?” he asked, glancing back, catching a nod. Dean made certain that his friend’s jacket was zipped up.

Well, his jacket. The stubborn jackass had wanted to go out without one like that was going to fly. Not after spending this past week watching over the bedridden guy with his high fever and nightmares that caused him to thrash like something dying. So, no, Cas was not going out without proper covering, even if his own shirt was getting soaked more and more.

Thing was, Cas was supposed to have his own jacket. He knew it without really knowing, or even what the damn thing looked like. Only that it existed, wasn’t with them now, and he didn’t have one solid idea of why that was. He thought there was a whole mountain of lost stuff, crowned by that damn coat that kept it forever invisible.

They got to the intersection where the highway was finally forced to stop and that whole, ‘should not exist anywhere’ protected area met the edge of town. It was a funky place like the founder had watched a mishmash of TV shows before taking a bunch of stills, giving them to some builders, and proclaiming ‘bask in my vision’. He swore he had seen the bank building before in some ancient black and white show with cowboys. It was hard to keep things straight. It stood out like a nun in a whorehouse beside buildings that looked like they had been minted yesterday.

“You hungry?” he asked, catching another nod when he glanced back. “There’s that little place up ahead.”

A squeeze on his arm as the walk signal popped. Why he felt the need to wait where absolutely no one was around was probably exceptionally stupid. Yet he couldn’t help that irrational fear in his belly that if they stepped off the curb at the wrong time they’d be crushed by a sudden speeding mass of steel and rubber. Two little smears on the road and he forced that thought away.

They were fine. Cas was getting stronger; soon they could blow this joint. Cas had just gotten some gnarly flu, that’s all.

The bell on the café door jingled, tired spring and worn brass giving a damp welcome. The inside, with its red-checkered tablecloths and little black napkin holders, walls adorned with a slew of random framed pictures, was almost warm. No one else was here, but that wasn’t a big surprise. It was too damn early. Cas’ fault. Guy never seemed to be able to rest much.

Sounds from the back was the only greeting they got. He felt alone at the loss of pressure on his arm. Cas had wandered over to the wall to look at one of the photos.

Wood scrapping and Dean fully turned. Cas was pulling down a photo, almost frantic in his urgency, fingers tapping on the glass, and Dean came over to look. It was old, maybe a century, of a woman standing off to one side in front of a house. She was looking over her shoulder, long hair caught in shadow. Something in her filled with malice.

“She’s dead,” Dean told him.

Cas’ face was more drawn up. No sound as he opened his mouth to say something. For some reason, this bothered Dean, as if his friend had ever been able to speak.

“She’s dead,” Dean said again, sure of it. He knew this beyond doubt, even if he didn’t know her name. Along with one other terrible idea forcing itself into his mind.

Cas was dead.

Dean took the frame, hung it back on the wall because it was freaking him the hell out. He did remember little pieces sometimes. Flashes and jumbled bits were tumbling in his brain. He worried that if they all got loose at once he’d die from mental overload before he hooked them all together.

“Just two of you this morning?”

Her voice made him jump. She had been silent, just a teen looking tired and bored at what was probably her weekend job. Fidgeting with a piece of hair that had come loose from the clip, she waited for them to leave or stay.

“Yeah,” he managed, voice hoarse and off. “Just us.”

“Sit wherever,” she replied, shoving two menus at him, before slouching off into the depths of the kitchen.

They sat near a window. He really didn’t want to look out at the weirdness, but sitting farther back made him feel pinned in, trapped. Cas tapped his menu, pointing at a picture of something that appeared to be a waffle smothered in fruit and whipped cream. He wasn’t surprised.

When she eventually dragged herself back out, he gave his order of an omelet and Cas’ sugar mountain breakfast.

A brief spark of an image in his mind of dark, broken wings on the ground, clearly visible even in the night. He swallowed. That wasn’t right. Cas was human, they were human. He didn’t know things that had those, let alone Cas having that attached to him.

Yet the image of his friend laying on earth somewhere, cold and broken –

A warm hand on his wrist, and he looked up. Cas was holding on, worried, face tight. The air was too thick here; he couldn’t get a decent lungful.

He was being led outside, the rain a heavier veil now. Dean pulled them around the corner into a small space between two buildings, a long eve keeping them a little drier. Pushing Cas against the wall he wanted to ask what the hell was going on. Where they were as a terrible idea filled him.

With urgency, he put his hand over Cas’ mouth. Didn’t matter if he couldn’t speak, he shouldn’t even make the attempt. Dean couldn’t have those words even mouthed because words were power. His jumbled jello brain knew enough for that. He knew if it was acknowledged, that whatever was happening would speed up, drag them off faster.

Loosening his grip on Cas, he knew they were losing now. This game, whatever this was, had already been decided before it had begun.

“Cas.”

His friend leaned forward, resting his head on his shoulder. Fear was icy and cold and penetrating in him. He knew he wouldn’t see this man again after this.

“We have to go back.”

Stubborn till the end, Cas was reluctant until he got it. Got that Dean needed to take them back to the little hole in the wall where they had spent days waiting for Cas’ fever to break. Where Dean had chattered and paced to fill the silence before it closed in on them.

It took a lot to not just run, to do it right because this whole world was waiting for a mistake to just outright murder them. It was pouring now, Cas’ hair becoming waterlogged, water spilling on his cheeks.

Dean liked him unkempt, wearing his clothes.

Door reached and opened, they splattered their way onto the thin rug that had been new four decades ago, closing out the coming end for a few minutes longer. That need was in him, the one ignored and shuffled to the corners of his heart that was twisted, but still wanting.

This was the only way he knew how to show it, he hoped his friend understood, as he pushed Cas against the closed door, kissing him hard.

A primal part of him was disappointed that Cas kissed back, hard and good. As if Cas shouldn’t have ever gotten experience except through him, another stupid thought. Cas was a man, so why shouldn’t he know about kissing things?

No, his mind answered. Never a man.

There wasn’t time to be confused, or really, more confused at this point. It was them and they needed everything off now. Waterlogged clothes were frustrating, cloth hugging way too much, leaving a slippery almost swamp-like sheen on their flesh. Didn’t matter. It had to come off and he got Cas down on the bed. His friend was heat, so much warmth, and he wanted all of it.  
There wasn’t time to make this slow. Whatever was stalking them was close, shrieks posing as wind rattling the windows. He had wasted all the time, all that was left was this.

Cas’ hands were all over him, trying to touch all of him at once, kisses turned sloppy with far less control. They pressed together, didn’t matter if it ended up messy. It was good, so good and he couldn’t help the long moan at the sensation of them sliding together. Cas’ fingers were digging in to cause bruises, but it didn’t matter. It was fucking wonderful.

“Always, Cas,” he got out, not understanding why he had to say it, but it needed to be said.

Cas was over the edge, the feeling hot and sticky between their bellies. Dean felt grief, thick and fierce, tear through him.

Dean would swear his face wasn’t wet when he followed a few moments later. It wasn’t when Cas rolled them, pressing Dean close to his chest so he could hide his head and his shame.  
Old. Cas was old and powerful and just an all-out pain in the ass. Dean remembered better now, remembered all the betrayals and lies and all the times he had had to watch this angel in a trench coat leave him behind as he pulled Cas closer.

Whatever was coming had shown up, the sound of a hurricane squatting on their doorstep. He couldn’t leave, wouldn’t leave, even with that thing outside waiting to have its fill.

Cas had been so warm, but he was growing colder. Like something was feeding on him even in here.

“Dean.”

That voice, it was rough and familiar; he wanted to scream.

“Nice time to relearn how to talk.”

“We should not be here.”

Dean wanted to protest, that Cas had been getting better before this, but he knew that was false. “Got any insight on how to not to get inhaled by that thing?”

Hands were still on him, and he knew that whatever this fight was, they weren’t winning. Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give up trying, to not go with –

“Sam.”

Fuck. He’d forgotten Sam in this shit hole of wherever. Sammy, who probably had no idea what was going down, though his Swiss cheese brain wasn’t helpful for the fine details. Sam, who wouldn’t know what was up. There was something else that would make it even harder for his brother if he left. Something he couldn’t name but was right there all the same.

“Dean, you must let go.”

Damn angels, making it sound like it was so easy to just let loved ones be mowed down over and over again. He wanted to point out that he had a lot of issues right friggin’ now about just letting Cas be taking up by the cosmic storm sucker knocking on the door, dead or not.

“You did not fail me.”

“Cas.”

“You are not meant to go farther with me.”

Before he could point out the idiocy of that, since he probably wasn’t supposed to be here at all, there was another sound. Something like an enraged wind chime and, damn, had this place turned his brain to soup. It was there though, loud against the screaming that tried to mask itself as wind. Cas, he knew the bastard heard it too, saying something in that low angel growl of his. Pulling him so hard he felt his bones groan at the pressure, Cas reached out a hand to the fury of the bells that had arrived.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything ached, the feeling of being shoved down and into his skin, and not fitting quite right filled him. It was warmish where he was, and way, way too bright, even with closed eyes. There was something heavy on him that he was pretty sure was contributing to his overall stiffness until it hit him.

“Cas,” he said, voice raw, as though it hadn’t seen use in decades. Opening his eyes, he immediately smashed them shut. Goddamn sun.

The body on him didn’t move and he was already worried, as his hands mapped out their surroundings. He was pretty sure he was in the back seat of the Impala, and not nicely placed either. Which, of course, was probably why he felt like a tortured pretzel. Christ, how long had he been back here?

“Cas,” he tried again, moving his head towards where he thought the back of the seat was. He was rewarded with some of the light diminishing along with the pain in his skull. Fingers moved on him.

He managed to not just yell out his relief.

He was about to ask where the hell they were when the door opened, more light pouring in before being blocked out by something big.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Sammy. Trying for a free show?”

He wanted to make it light, wanted to ignore his little brother who had probably been worried out of his skull when his soul or mind or what the hell ever had gone wandering after an angel. Not that he had given it permission to do that. Stupid soul.

“Not funny. You just suddenly collapsed out there afterward. You were barely –“ Sam stopped, and Dean swallowed.

Yep, it was bad.

“What the hell did you do?” Sam asked, voice quiet.

Dean knew his brother had squatted down now, given how much closer his voice sounded and that the light was an issue again. Getting a hand up, he rubbed his eyes, wincing, as he worked on getting them open. Things swam around, fueling that vague, sick feeling pooling in his stomach, before snapping more into place.

Score, it was the backseat of Baby, Cas draped over him like a used rug. He didn’t know where the hell they were other than it was quiet outside of a train in the distance with its mournful wail and actually smelled clean. Like really had smells, and man, he didn’t know that had been missing in nightmare land, or how much he could miss something so simple.

“Accident,” Cas said, voice just as messed up as his own. The angel was trying to push himself up a little, though Dean wasn’t thrilled his chest was being used as a springboard. “Your brother did not mean to do his reckless thing this time, Sam, when he found me.”

“I don’t –“ Dean stopped, ignoring the rebuke. “Find you how?”

“I believe you held enough of me, but were unable to get us home. We were trapped in a lost plane, a type of limbo created for those without a destination.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, helping Cas get up so he could follow, and maybe feel his legs by sometime next week. Seeing Sam’s face scrunched up and unconvinced, he patted that shaggy head, enjoying the frustration. “Didn’t miss much, Sam. Lots of freaky stuff, but decent grub.”

“So, you ended up there and what? Took a vacation?”

“Didn’t remember much of nothin’,” Dean said. “My brain was so fried it’s probably lucky I knew my name and how to operate buttons.”

“As would be expected,” Cas said.

Dean rolled his eyes at the angel who had managed to get himself sitting.

Of course, it was at that moment that he remembered neither of them had clothes on when the chimes of salvation had shown up, and he had a minute of panic that maybe that was still a thing. Checking himself, looking at Cas, hating that he was still so discombobulated. His brother, however, hadn’t missed that flush he hadn’t been able to stop as he had patted himself down. Before Sam could start getting too personal, he pointed at the front seat, finally realizing there was a teen up there.

A naked one, apparently napping, covered in what looked like a sheet.

“Jack,” Sam said quietly, seeing where his attention was. His brother gripped his arm as Dean reached for his weapon. “Don’t. He brought you back.”

“Son of Satan, Sam.”

“He thinks of Cas as his dad.”

Dean bit back all the problems with that statement because right now it wasn’t worth arguing. His muscles were still vibrating and his head felt like it had a thousand needles all stuck into it. Later. He’d confront that ten-ton elephant and how to end it, later. “And why is he grown and not all baby like?”

“His mom told him he had to grow up, so he did.” Sam shrugged like it was the most natural thing to happen in the whole damn world.

Dean was pretty sure he was going to need a lot of convincing that this was actually the earth and universe he had left.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Sam continued. “Like anything. He’s scared out of his mind.

“Sure, the picture of innocence. So you piled us all in the car and took us where?”

“Middle of nowhere.” Dean knew he had to look incredulous as Sam’s face darkened fast. “Where the hell was I supposed to go with angels coming, a kid in a sheet half zoned out trying to find you, and two unconscious men in the back, one of which may or may not have been a corpse, Dean?”

There wasn’t a good answer. Well, one that wouldn’t piss Sam off more, and Dean just sheepishly rubbed his head. His legs were tingling, the sign right before that weird pain started that signaled they were coming back to life. At least the ticked off look hadn’t settled all the way into Sam’s face, and to be honest, he was glad to wake up in some field that smelled fresh.

And wasn’t filled with strange, bloodthirsty creatures that Cas had insisted could not be shot in public.

“How long?” Dean asked, taking in how tired his brother looked.

“About two days,” Sam answered. “He didn’t know how to find you. Took a bit to figure that out, since apparently angels aren’t born with instructions programmed into them.”

“We are not typically born,” Cas said, and Dean resisted the urged to elbow him. “I should be gone.”

Shifting, he was unnerved by both the weird passing of time and the stare down he was being given by the angel.

“You make it sound like that would be a good thing,” Dean told him.

“We had no place there. It was foolish to follow me.”

“Like I did it on purpose. I’m pretty damn sure I didn’t.”

“No, but you still did.” Cas turned his face away, hand tight against his thigh. “What happened there, do not feel obligated to continue it here.”

And with that, the angel was staring straight ahead on the other side of the seat, hands in his lap, simply waiting for the car to move, or Jack the spawn of Hell to wake up, or the world to just end. Dean wasn’t sure outside of the fact that it pissed him off.

Sam was staring at them, big eyes and bigger brain trying to figure out what had happened, and Dean really wanted to take the angel up on that offer. Let it all go away and they could go back to the status quo. No questions, no big suffocating mess they had made. Just back to Cas wandering off, accidentally breaking things, and him coming to clean up the mess.

Cas came back, always came back after whatever shitfest had infected their lives.

He tried not to dwell on the thought that this time it almost hadn’t happened.

Jack shifted in the front seat, head against the door, a soft snore, and Dean raised an eyebrow at that. Sam shrugged again, a sort of ‘don’t ask me about angel children’ look, before standing up.

“He is most likely exhausted, at least emotionally,” Cas supplied. “While powerful, he does not know how to use what is in him.”

“He’s pretty freaked. His mom, he couldn’t help her, didn’t know how. And our mom –“ Sam trailed off, and Dean shut his eyes for a moment.

Mom, off in another world with Lucifer as her tour guide, and he hoped she was dead. He wanted her to be. He had seen enough of that complete hell hole to know that death would be merciful and maybe Michael over there hadn’t totally destroyed heaven.

He wanted to drive, needed the distraction. Sam pushed his ass right back down with embarrassing ease.

“Yeah, no driving until you get a better grip on being alive again.”

The door slamming shut cut off any snark he had to give to that uppity statement. Dean looked over at Cas and reached out to pull at the angel’s sleeve. He didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know how to ask anymore. His hand fell a few inches short, useless, as he pretended to pluck at something unseen on the seat.

He tried to focus on what he could fix now, which was actually putting some clothes on Satan’s spawn up there. Three men driving around with a naked kid was barely better than what Sam had been stuck with. He figured he’d chalk up the lack of dressing the kid to Sam’s panic level, which meant it had gone past red and into nuclear. Not much to be done for that though, and sorry really wasn’t going to cut it.

Cas was taking off his coat and handing it up to Sam who was just sliding into the driver’s seat. Sam placed the coat over Jack. Dean felt cold at that moment, didn’t know why just so damn cold.

Then there was warmth. Cas had slid over so that their knees were touching. He was grateful, didn’t know what to say, and worried he’d make the angel take off again if he said anything. So, he just grinned at Sam, who had glanced back at them with a little frown. That small sign that his brother wasn’t slow, that he was as smart as he liked to think at times.

“Starving, by the way. Could use some eats,” Dean said, trying for a cock-sure grin, and feeling it stay in place.

“I don’t believe you,” Sam muttered, putting the car in gear.

Dean was sure there were some other little phrases about moron brothers and ungrateful family mixed in.

“Sorry, Sammy. Next time my soul decides to go for a stroll, I’ll make sure to leave a voicemail first.”

“Don’t start, Dean. Just don’t start.”

Cas’ knee brushed his again as the car started it’s bouncing ride to go back to something closer to a road. The angel was looking at him now, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find words. Dean swallowed, hands curled against his jeans.

“Always, Cas,” he said, voice low and almost lost to the sound of Baby’s engine. “Always.”


End file.
